


Sometimes

by ABitNotGoodieBag



Series: K's SamBucky Playlist [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Pre-Slash, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Sam does too, depression and anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22671850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABitNotGoodieBag/pseuds/ABitNotGoodieBag
Summary: It’s not that he doesn’t want to stay, but every time Sam moves too close he runs away.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Series: K's SamBucky Playlist [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630990
Comments: 5
Kudos: 79
Collections: Sambucky Bingo





	Sometimes

Bucky wakes up gasping. This is not a dream he’s had before and it terrifies him. He’s not sure if it technically qualifies as a nightmare but Bucky thinks so. It’s about Sam (This is happening worryingly often). Sam is getting married. Sam is getting married to someone else. A nice girl with all of her limbs, who was born in a reasonable year. A girl with a normal background and normal baggage who doesn’t wake up screaming or spend days not saying a word. They’re smiling at each other, the bride’s eyes filled with happy tears and Sam’s smiling that soft, loving smile (The one Bucky wishes he could keep always). Bucky stands at the altar next to Sam and passes the rings when he’s told. His smile must surely resemble the grimace it feels like, but no one is looking at him. Everyone is staring at Sam and now Sam is leaning forward, kissing his perfect wife and Bucky shatters inside. The congregation is cheering and clapping and Bucky’s vision whites out until he sees nothing but Sam and his perfect little wife. 

The dream replays in agonizing detail and Bucky has an urge for his brain to forget everything (Never happens when he wants it to, figures). He can’t hear Sam moving around, so he must not have made any noise. Bucky lets out a long breath and squeezes his eyes shut. Counts to ten. The image of Sam kissing his mystery woman is still there, crystal clear and Bucky wants to scream. He wants to let out the pain of Sam finding happiness and leaving him alone out in a monstrous roar. Instead he sticks his flesh knuckle in his mouth and bites down hard enough to draw blood. The taste of copper is familiar and strangely comforting. As comforting as blood in one’s mouth can be, Bucky supposes. He feels wetness on his face and realizes he’s crying.

This dream is bringing feelings that Bucky isn’t ready to face to the front of his mind and he keeps his eyes clenched shut tightly as if that will banish them somewhere they won’t hurt him. Sam is stable and warm and safe and  _ perfect _ and can do so much better than a broken HYDRA castoff. Bucky shouldn't even entertain the thoughts that are running through his head. The thoughts where  _ he _ is the one Sam chooses, and  _ he _ is the one standing at the altar before God and everyone they know.

Bucky feels more tears running down his cheeks. Sam is too good for any of that. He deserves a white picket fence, 2.5 kids, and a golden retriever. Bucky can’t offer him anything and that’s the rub isn’t it? Bucky used to be the smoothest, suavest, slickest-talking chucklehead in Brooklyn. That Bucky is dead and now he’s just an awkward, off-balanced and insecure shell of his former self.

Sam doesn’t need any more of Bucky’s problems, though, so Bucky keeps his thoughts inside his head, not even daring to write them down in the journals that Sam so thoughtfully left by his bedside a month ago (Sam’s good like that, knowing what Bucky needs before he does). He wishes he could banish them so deep in his subconscious that he doesn’t even dream about them, but wishes have never really worked out for him, why should they start now?

Bucky lays there in silence until the gray light of dawn filters through his curtains. He tries to will himself to move. Today is not going to be good.

* * *

Bucky thinks (not for the first, fifth or fiftieth time) that Sam is killer diller. He’s been nothing but patient with him, but not in the way that seems like pity. It’s more like Sam knows that Bucky needs to move at his own pace and he respects it. He doesn’t try to force him to talk or tell him that things are going to get better or recommend he go see a shrink. Sam just smiles at Bucky when he has a good day and sits silently by his side when he can’t move from the couch (or even his own bed) in their cozy apartment. 

He cooks their meals (Bucky could  _ cry _ at Sam’s chicken and waffles) and everytime Sam asks Bucky what he wants, he gets a warm feeling in his chest. He still isn’t used to having any sort of choice in his life. Bucky knows what Sam is doing most of the time (trying to make him feel like he belongs), but he doesn’t make it obvious. Bucky appreciates it and comes to like being taken care of.

That thought causes him to blush because  _ him _ ? Being  _ taken care of _ ? The concept is entirely new but completely treasured. He’s used to taking care of others, his ma, his siblings, his--Steve. But that was then, they were all gone now and he had no one left to care for but himself. 

“A penny for your thoughts?” Sam asks, breaking Bucky out of his musings.

“My thoughts ain’t that cheap, Jaybird.” Bucky smirks back.

Sam raises his hands in exaggerated contrition. “Well excuse me, Mr. Freeze. Go back to your little funky daydreams then. Me and Mr. Trebek are good without you.” 

Bucky chuckles quietly and focuses his attention back on Jeopardy. Bucky can feel the heat of Sam’s thigh where it almost but not quite touches his. Bucky tries to think of a surreptitious way to shift over an inch or two to get more of that sweet, sweet body heat action.

He is saved from taking any action when Sam yawns loudly (and with his  _ entire _ body, Bucky notices in his peripheral vision). Sam’s arms stretch high and his legs spread enough to knock their knees together. Sams arms come down to land on the back of the sofa and Bucky is almost beside himself at the closeness. A couple of inches and they will be  _ cuddling _ .

Bucky frowns thoughtfully, back to ignoring the game show in favor of thinking of ways to get further into Sam’s personal space. Bucky is so far into his own mind, he doesn’t notice Sam staring at him with a fond smile on his face. He doesn’t see Sam roll his shoulders causing his right arm to fall across Bucky’s shoulders.

Bucky almost purrs at the contact, unconsciously leaning in to the touch. A small smile finds a home on his face and Bucky could cry, he’s so content. Such peace cannot last, though, as Bucky’s brain chooses that moment to replay the images of dream-Sam’s fictional wedding to his fictional fantasy wife. Bucky tenses, suddenly filled with anxiety.

He abruptly leans away from Sam, knowing he doesn’t deserve to saddle him with all of his baggage. Sam has his own life and problems, taking on any more of Bucky’s isn’t something Bucky will allow.

At the next commercial break, Bucky feigns sleepiness and slinks off to his bedroom, not noticing Sam’s sad, confused gaze following his footsteps.

* * *

Some days are better than others, pure and simple, and those days always take Bucky by surprise in the best way. He wakes up feeling refreshed and clear-headed. He takes his time in the shower, enjoying the feel of the hot spray on his back and in his hair. He steals a bit of Sam’s fancy body wash over his own plain bar soap and inhales all of the steam he can, the smell of Sam surrounding him giving him butterflies.

He meanders to the kitchen, intent on making a real breakfast (to him at least, something more than cold Pop-Tarts) and he will never admit it, but that just-add-water pancake mix is genius. Sam turns his nose up at it, but Bucky can’t cook well enough to make anything better, so it works for him. Sam buys it special for Bucky on the days when Sam has to be away because Captain America is constantly being pulled here and there. As he’s mixing the batter, he hums a tune he soon recognizes as one of Sam’s favorites. 

Bucky stops humming and starts full-on singing. “ _ How sweet it is to be loved by you, yes it is _ .” He feels a presence at his back and turns around.

“Oh no, don’t stop on my account.” Sam’s smile is soft and his eyes are sparkling amusement as he stands just inside the kitchen. He seems to sense Bucky’s nerves and continues the song, “ _ Close my eyes at night and wonder what I would be without you in my life _ .”

Bucky, losing some of his shyness begins humming again while Sam gets louder, grabbing a ladle to use as a makeshift microphone. Pancakes forgotten, their kitchen turns into an impromptu dance floor as they both shimmy and shake their way around the dining table.

As Sam finishes the last line, they both dissolve into giggles. There is a bit of powdered pancake mix in Bucky’s hair and Sam lightly brushes it away, still smiling. Bucky quickly turns back to the counter to hide his blush and doesn’t see Sam’s smile shrink. Bucky’s brain screams at him that he’s making this weird.

“Let me find out white boy knows the greats.” Sam says behind him.

“Who wouldn’t, as much as you insist on playing it on repeat at all hours.” Bucky’s voice is gruffer than he intends and the mood of the room cools. The easy playfulness from their duet morphs into an awkward silence.

“Well let me at least make the coffee since you seem to have the food in hand.” Sam eventually says, moving to brew their drinks. Bucky can tell that the moment from earlier has passed. While Bucky continues with the pancakes, Sam retreats to their front door to pick up the newspaper that he insists on receiving rather than just using his phone to read the news like everyone else. Bucky appreciates that Sam tries to keep some things familiar and analog even in this world of aliens and magic and flying suits of armor.

Bucky assesses the variety of whatever fruit Sam insists Bucky needs to try from the fridge and slices up a mango and a honeydew (Sam thinks it’s hilarious that Bucky enjoys the fifth wheel of melons). His pancakes are flipped and finished at the same time Sam returns to the kitchen with his paper. The newspaper blocks Sam’s face from view as Bucky sets the food on the table.

“Dig in, Trouble Man.” Bucky says, inviting Sam to eat.

“At least you learned something good from me.” Sam says, a smile clear in his voice as he lowers the paper to admire the spread. “Breakfast and a song? Oh my, keep this up and I may get spoiled.” 

Bucky’s cheeks fail him again at Sam’s compliment and he grunts noncommittally as he turns away once again to grab them both utensils and syrup (none of that fake corn stuff, Sam says it has to be pure  _ Canadian  _ or it isn’t fit for consumption).

Sam makes grabby hands at the syrup and absolutely drenches the stack of pancakes. “Hope you wanted a lot of syrup, Buckaroo.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at the nickname, knowing Sam only does it to annoy him (and he knows that Sam knows about his sweet tooth). “Mm-mm. After I went to all this trouble of making you breakfast. I see how it is, Pigeon.”

Sam just laughs and digs in to the half of the pancakes closest to him, not even commenting on the fact that they aren’t from scratch, while Bucky makes short work of most of the honeydew. It’s one of the rare days that Sam has absolutely nowhere to be and Bucky cherishes them because Sam never leaves the house on those days.

He knows how the day will go, they will make their way into the living room and laze around on the couch. Sam will turn the TV on and he’ll channel surf until they find the most ridiculous show they can. Sam will do his best to explain everything to Bucky even though these programs rarely make any sense, because who is a Kardashian and why would anyone care to keep up with one? When their stomachs begin to rumble, Sam will give Bucky the look (it means go pick one of the take out menus from the drawer next to the silverware) and they’ll order in and eat straight out of the container until they feel like they’ll burst. 

Eventually they’ll stop with the garbage television and move on to the real good stuff, game shows (Sam is always surprised when Bucky knows a pop culture reference. Bucky hoards these moments to think about later). Bucky smiles and thinks that everything he could want in the world is right here in this kitchen eating pancakes. If only he could let himself have it. 

* * *

Bucky figures the day couldn’t be all the way swell. He hears Sam approach his room right after he wakes gasping and clawing at the air from yet another night terror. Sam’s footsteps stop just outside his bedroom when letting Bucky decide whether or not to call out to him, Sam doesn’t intrude.

After a moment he whispers Sam’s name and that’s enough to draw him inside.

“Another bad one, huh?” Sam asks as he sits on the edge of the bed.

Bucky just nods, not up to forming any more words just yet. His heart is beating double-time remembering this one. This must be the month of new nightmares because Sam was falling. Bucky ran as fast as he could, but Sam hit the ground in a giant cloud of dust. Bucky tried to get through to him, but the dust is so thick it gets in his eyes, nose, mouth, he’s drowning trying to make it through.

“You-” Bucky coughs. Sam scoots closer and places a hand on his back, rubbing small circles. “You fell. I couldn’t catch you.” Bucky sounds broken to his own ears. He wants to take his words back because they are too raw and he didn’t mean to expose quite that much of himself. They can’t be reclaimed and Bucky’s head falls to hit his chest. He feels Sam’s hand freeze.

There is a hitch in his breath and Bucky looks up before he can stop himself. Sam’s face has a peculiar expression that can’t seem to decide if it’s angry, sad, or pensive. Bucky realizes what he’s just said and is almost knocked back at the force of his guilt. “Sam, I-”

Sam just shakes his head. “No Bucky, it’s okay. You can’t help your dreams.” Bucky wants to protest and Sam clearly sees that and heads him off once again. “I mean it. You don’t have to tell me how shitty those are, Buck.” He looks directly into Bucky’s eyes to drive his point home. “I know.”

At those words it’s like a dam breaks. Bucky can no longer hold back his tears and Sam gathers him into strong arms, and if Bucky notices those arms trembling he doesn’t say anything. And if he feels a bit of moisture in his hair he doesn’t mention that either. They stay like that for what feels like hours. Bucky whimpers when Sam moves to pull away.

“Stay.” It’s so quiet that Bucky isn’t sure if Sam heard it.

When Sam motions for Bucky to scoot over in the bed, Bucky’s heart radiates warmth that fills his whole body.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Sam whispers as he slides into place behind Bucky, arm pulling them closer together. “I’m right here.” Bucky closes his eyes and hums as the warm breath tickles his ear.

Sam’s weight against Bucky’s back is a solid comfort. Maybe everything with Sam will blow up in his face one day or maybe he is the answer to everything Bucky doesn’t yet know how to ask for, but tonight he’s just gonna breathe him in deep. He knows that he won’t sleep, neither will Sam, but they will take all the comfort they can, curled around each other. Yes, Sam is everything Bucky needs in this world, everything except just a little more time.

**Author's Note:**

> SamBucky bingo square: comfort from a nightmare


End file.
